A Chance Meeting

[Jaxrond]

The day had been a long one, with the sun beating down upon the people below like a vengeful god who wished to make his fury known. The employers of the day had been equally unforgiving. After the war, despite the usual bandits and rogues, there was nothing more that a mercenary was needed for. Especially one who looked as dangerous as Jaffar. The former assassin had an off-setting coldness about him that made it difficult to find work in some places. After his unsuccessful attempts to find work guarding a caravan, routing bandits, delivering goods, or anything really, he had made his way into the city, asking after work from the shopkeepers there. In the afternoon, he had found a man who needed some heavy lifting done. Jaffar had taken the job and the small amount of money in payment for his labor.

Now, as evening fell, the assassin was sitting in a dark corner of a tavern. Though he did not drink, as clouded senses were an assassin’s worst nightmare, or join in any of the conversations, he knew that a hub of social activity was the best place to hear news. Though he usually heard only local prattle, talk of the new regime was also common. So far, the people seemed happier. However, Jaffar found that he did not truly care. Whoever was in leadership, he would simply survive. Still, it was best to be informed.

His dark, kohl-rimmed eyes scanned the room, his reddish hair covered by its wrap. As he traveled throughout the lands of the former Empire, he had listened for news of Nephtiri as well. He could not forgive himself for losing her as he had. He was unaccustomed to failure, and to have failed so largely as this… His eyes tightened fractionally. He would not dwell on it. He would find her and correct his error. Mentally, he began to run through his options

The slave trade was being torn down with the Riders reinstating themselves, which nearly eliminated that possibility. Though, she may have been captured by those still working underground, it was unlikely. She may have been imprisoned due to her connection to her father, however, that was unlikely as well. She had just reached the age of fifteen when last he saw her and would still be considered a child. That would help her if she had been taken by the Varden. Even if she had been imprisoned, or, was being held under suspicion, she would still be in Uru’baen. It would be difficult for him to reenter the city, being wanted, however, he knew that he could if need be. The last option, and the one he found least favorable, was that her father had survived the battle and fled with her. Not only would this mean that she could be anywhere in Alagasia, but also that her father, who was a cruel man, was roaming free. Jaffar’s gaze dropped to the tabletop. If that was the case, he would have to kill the man. It would upset Nephtiri, but it would be necessary.

The assassin folded his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair, returning his gaze to the tavern. For now, he would observe and listen. On the morrow, he would resume his travels.

[Aelodil]

It had been a long day. Walking through the streets was what seemed to be a shady stranger - you know, the kind you generally tend to avoid. The man, or at least it seemed like a man, was wearing a deep set robe with a cowl to cover his face. The robe was plain and only seemed to give off one impression: it was completely black. The man was Navarog. After finally having been recently freed from his jail cell once it was confirmed that he had complete control of the Shades in him, he had set around to stop the underworld kind of trade market. For one, slavery. For two, assassins and such. Mercenaries in a Province's armies were to be expected and there was no way they could stop that. However, assassins were another story. They murdered people, innocent or not, just for money.

Spitting to one side, Navarog opened the doors to the tavern. Little did he know that he'd meet Jaffar in there. At that given time, little did he care, either. Opening the doors and treading inside, he noticed everyone go quiet. They looked up from their meals to see the newcomer but just as fast as they had stared, they lost interest and went back to their meals and drinks. A few whispered about the robe, but Navarog gave them no heed. Under that cowl was what seemed to be a pleasantly handsome young man with long, wild black hair. Though of course, you should never judge a book by its cover. He was actually a Wizard. Not intentionally, but a Wizard nonetheless.

Moving to the table where the bartender was, he leaned over the table and beckoned the man over. Intrigued, the man walked over and leaned over. "May I help you, sir?" he asked Navarog politely.

Shaking his head, Navarog replied, "Maybe you can. A little bird passed by my window the other day and chirped to me about what seems to be a string of murders in the area. You wouldn't happen to know anything about it, would you?" as he removed the cowl off his head. Nothing was of note save his eyes; those glistening, blood-red eyes.

With a slight hesitation, the bartender began, "Look, I don't know who you are but if you want to bust some tables and heads, take it elsewhere. I don't want any trouble." his voice obviously worried.

"Let it go, Navarog. We've checked his mind. He knows about the incidents, but nothing more than the fact that they were a string of murders. Though there is a mind on the bar that has defenses. We could break through if you want, but.. I don't think that'd be smart. It's that gloomy looking fellow over there who's staring at everyone as if he's going to murder them all." the Gold King's voice resounded in Navarog's mind. Smiling to the bartender, he waved his hand.

"Not at all, don't worry. I won't bring any trouble. Could I ask for a stew - rather, make that two beef stews and some water." he told the bartender, slipping a gold coin across the table. The bartender stared in astonishment then hurried to get the order. It wasn't long before he came back with the order. Sliding one bowl and cup of water over to the man, he moved over to him, sliding along his own bowl of stew and cup.

"Try not to hint on who you are. Also, try not to piss him off. We all know how great your social skills are. First person you meet since leaving your jail and you've aggravated him to the point he wanted to kill you." the Blue King warned, not politely.

Brushing it off, Navarog sat next to the stranger and tried to begin a conversation with a friendly start, "Stew here is pretty good, huh? Dig in, it's on me. No favors, no poison, nothing." to prove it, Navarog dug into his first. He didn't really feel as cheerful as he sounded. In fact, ever since he had been captured all those centuries ago, emotion came to him hardly, if at all. It was kind of frightening. "The name's Navarog. A nobody, really. I'd ask your name but I doubt you'd give me it. What I will ask though.. do you know anything about the string of murders recently?" he introduced himself. Quietly such as not to draw attention, he lowered his unused hand from the table. With his magic, even a fist was as potent a weapon as a blade.

((By the way, read the playable character races so you know what I mean by Wizard ))

When you die, your world ends. The world may go on, but in your eyes, the world ends with you.

-Carpe Diem

[Jaxrond]

Jaffar’s eyes immediately followed the man who entered the tavern. Anyone who was dressed in such a manner usually had something to hide, or was wary enough to keep covered while those who lived in naieve peace went about their lives. His expression remained as blank as ever as he watched the newcomer, not quite so quick to dismiss him as the others in the tavern. Instinct told him that, out of all of those within the tavern, this was the man to be wary of.

The noise from the patrons kept him from hearing whatever exchange went on between the man and the bartender. It may have been irrelevant. Or it may have been an inquiry as to his whereabouts. This would not be the first town in which a bounty hunter had caught up to him. Though, this person lacked the hard, ruffian air that bounty hunters usually possessed. Jaffar found himself disliking the situation more with each passing second. Bounty hunters, he could deal with. This unknown element…

He did not move from his slightly reclined position, bare arms folded over his chest. He would rather not get into a fight. He would most definitely prefer not to kill. There was enough blood on his hands to satisfy any creature of death. Killing out of necessity was one thing, but the acts he had committed under Galbatorix’s orders…his blank eyes moved to look at a distant point. He had thought about it many times. If he had thought it possible, he would have pierced the Mad King’s heart himself. He’d had no freedom until now, thanks to that man. And, even now, he did not know what to do with it. He was in the prime of his life, a young man, and yet he was, for the most part, purposeless. He had no idea what he would do after he found Nephtiri, and, if need be, rid the world of her father. Perhaps she would have an idea. She was a smart girl.

His train of thought was disrupted when the man from earlier approached. Inwardly, Jafar tensed, reflexively ensuring his mind was tightly guarded and mentally checking his weapons. Outwardly, the only sign of his having noticed the man was a quick flicker of his dark eyes. Then, his gaze dropped down to the food. He was tempted to refuse, a trained wariness causing him to imagine a number of scenarios. He did not trust the man’s cheery tone or his sudden giving of food. However, playing along would allow him to discover what this man wanted and, perhaps, who he was.

Wordlessly, Jaffar gripped the spoon within the bowl with one hand, calloused from fighting. He chewed slowly, glancing at the man and allowing a bit of wariness to creep into his expression. It would be best to keep his identity a secret. In order to do this, he would play the part of the mercenary, hardened enough by combat to be wary, but nowhere near the man Jaffar truly was.
The former assassin’s mind began to analyze the man, taking in everything from his clothes, to his features, to his speech patterns. Anyone who claimed to be a nobody rarely was. Jaffar himself had given this response to his targets if they had the time to ask ‘who are you?’. Already, though, the man was moving on.

At his question, Jaffar tilted his head quizzically, allowing a frown to touch his features. He had been trained well how to blend in as a spy and was a superb actor. That much his master had made sure of.

“I just got here yesterday,” he let his baritone voice take on the slight accent that he had heard some of the mercenaries he’d partnered with using, choosing to adopt their less formal mannerisms as well, “Only know what’s been said in here,” he nodded towards the open tavern, indicating the others gathered.

That much was true. He’d paused in this town only long enough to attempt to find work. What went on in the local area was none of his concern.

[Aelodil]

Navarog had noticed Jaffar staring at him the entire time. Any normal man probably would have felt slightly scared or something. Instead Navarog just felt curious. Why would someone want to pay him such attention? It took his mind a moment to put two and two together to get four. He wasn't sure what exactly his profession was, but Jaffar was definitely something which would be wary of anyone who might seem to be noteworthy. That left anything in combat, from assassin to mercenary, to a soldier. It also left someone of political interest. Whether it be a Lord, or whichever. He doubted the latter and suspected one of the former. Not bothering to take off his cowl, instead preferring to keep the man guessing. Besides, it wouldn't matter. After all, no one knew who Navarog was.

After all, the main reason for the deep set cowl and robe was to keep people guessing. He didn't care if they figured out who he was - if they could identify him, that is. All he cared was for people to second guess before trying to attack him or anything among those lines.

Noting the man's muscle on his arms, he grimaced inwardly. Hopefully the man wouldn't give him any trouble. Navarog struck quite an intimidating figure himself, but this man didn't seem to be a push over. Topped with the apparent, well, apparent to Navarog, wariness, he'd say the man was definitely an adversary to look out for.

Being a liar himself, Navarog doubted the act Jaffar put on but didn't refuse it. The man might have been telling the truth, after all. Dropping his own cheerful act, Navarog finished the last of his stew and reclined in the chair. Whether consciously or not, he let off this kind of aura that seemed to show he didn't have a care in the world.

"I'm inclined to believe that. So let me change my questions: what's your name? After all, common matters dictate that after someone introduces themselves, you should too. What did you work as before the Grand Council came to power to form a republic? What do you work as now and, considering it seems you travel a lot," he stopped, meaning the first sentence the man had said, "where is your destination and why?" seeming to take on a commanding authority. He didn't want to, but if he had to he would break into the man's mind and learn his secrets. Considering though, he very much preferred to keep it civilized. Knowing himself, however, he doubted it'd stay civil. Plus if it did, it wouldn't be for long.

((You're giving such great posts and I'm giving rubbish in return - I'm sorry v.v but I'm very much rushed))

When you die, your world ends. The world may go on, but in your eyes, the world ends with you.

-Carpe Diem

[Jaxrond]

Jaffar continued to eat slowly, eyeing the man warily from time to time. He kept up his poor mercenary act playing along with the man. As the line of questions began, he inwardly frowned. The man had said at first that he would not ask Jaffar’s name, now he did just that. Either he had forgotten, unlikely, or was a liar, much more probable. It was especially more probable after the cheerful act was dropped. Jaffar immediately disliked him, as much as he could. Emotions were still relatively new to the former assassin and he had difficulty with anything more than apathy. Still, this man reminded him of a few of his former coworkers, if they could be called that.

He took a final bite of his stew and set it aside. Then he sipped his drink, dark eyes observing Navarog.

“That’s a lot of pretty personal questions,” he commented lightly, continuing in his accented voice, “You some sort of law enforcement?” he paused, looking him over as though worried he might be in some sort of trouble, “I’m called Blade, though, you said earlier you wouldn’t ask for it…”

That much was true. It was the name he had been giving to his employers and fellow mercenaries. As his fellows had similarly odd names they called himself, it assisted him in blending in.

He finished his drink and set the glass down with a small clink.

 
“I am and always have been a soldier. I used to act on orders. Now, I go where the coin’s good and there are employers willing to pay. I’m headed north. Work hasn’t been easy to find in the south…”

He had always found that, when lying, half-truths and sprinkling of entire truths were the best. For a brief moment, he was tempted to mention Nephtiri, however, if this man was familiar with her, he would know of her connections to the Empire, the Black Hand, and Jaffar himself. It would give him away very quickly, and so, he remained silent, allowing an air of suspicion towards the man to surround him.

(OOC- Thanks ^^. And you're fine. I've gotten far worse responses before. On a sidenote, if your character does make a mental attack, please give mine time to react. It would be much appreciated )

[Aelodil]

Navarog could feel the difference in Jaffar. Did he blame him? Not at all, he didn't. Few to no people could stand Navarog. Those who can generally tend to just barely be able to stand him. If there was an advantage to any of this it was the fact that he knew for certain this man was no soldier. He would have to be a hired blade. Whether a mercenary, bounty hunter, or an assassin. He wasn't too sure. What he was sure of was that he was one of those three.

Navarog stared the man dead in the eye. Law enforcement? Well, actually, he kind of was. At the same time it wasn't really anything official. It had been something among the lines such as him asking Camarat where incidents happened, and what they looked like before he set out to deal with it. "People lie, mister Blade. I'm sure you're no stranger to the fact. Though yes, I guess you could call me a self-appointed law enforcer. Well, maybe not completely self-appointed, but you get my train of thought here." he told the man. He was suspicious that the man gave him an alias, but he didn't care.

Leaning forward in his seat and propping his arm on the table, resting his head, he stared downwards and muttered something under his breath. Sitting back upright, he turned to look at the man and said, "You seem ever so wary of me. Not that I blame you, but more-so than is normal. No soldier would have to be that wary. Obviously you are no soldier. You're either a mercenary, bounty hunter, or an assassin. That's not my business, though. I'm just here to deal with an assassin. If it'll ease your suspicion as to whether or not I may be one of your former coworkers, though, here." moving his hands up to toss back the cowl that shadowed his face, revealing his wild, long, black hair and glistening red eyes.

"So now that that's out the way, would you mind telling me what you may have heard? Even, a helping hand would be appreciated. I could also pay you for it, too.." he began, letting his latter statement drift off. It was both to enlist his help, and at the same time a chance to confirm his suspicions on the mans line of work.

When you die, your world ends. The world may go on, but in your eyes, the world ends with you.

-Carpe Diem

[Jaxrond]

Jaffar’s expression did not change when the man revealed himself. After all, he had been watching when the man had removed his cowl for the bartender earlier. Internally, however, he frowned. He disliked how perceptive this Navarog was. Or how he seemed to be talking down to him, bandying his observations as though he did not have a care in the world. These were the actions of someone without the wisdom to curb his words, which Navarog did not strike him as, or someone who was sure enough in their power that they naturally held themselves in a higher opinion than those around them. Both were dangerous, and both were types Jaffar disliked affiliating with. Though, really, he disliked affiliating with anyone.

He cocked his head slightly at the mention of money, keeping up his ‘simple mercenary’ act flawlessly.

“I’ve heard about a serial killer in the area,” he shrugged, “He’s too sloppy to be an assassin if he’s leaving a trail like he has. I’ve hunted and killed assassins before, none were so messy in their work. If he is an assassin, he’s an up-and-comer...or, for whatever reason, he's purposefully making a trail,” he leaned on the counter with his elbows, glancing down at the scars in his dark skin, “If you want to kill him, you’re going to need to figure out what group of people he targets, his killing methods, and discern his pattern. Every serial killer has one.”

He remembered Sideon. The mad elf had a habit of targeting beautiful women for his experiments, though Jaffar doubted he realized it. He tended to slit the throat. Despite knowing and even working alongside Sideon, however, Jaffar had struggled to pick out any other discernable pattern. The elf had been erratic, attacking suddenly and seemingly without provocation. Young or old, rich or poor, bearing any disposition, none were safe. It was despicable even to one as hard as Jaffar, who killed only when ordered. He did not take the sick pleasure in ending life that his collegue had.

His eyes slid back to Navarog.

“Pay me and I’ll help you track him and kill him. He doesn’t need to be loose. However, I’m not so wealthy to do this out of the goodness of my heart.”